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Spenser Bennett Jun 2016
Does the lonely bird still sing?
Do his feathers still greet the Spring?

Is there a sadness in his song?
When the full forest sounds wrong?

Unsure if abandoned by hope
Or lost in the fetid smoke.

His voice a broken pitiful thing.
A lonely bird cannot sing.

And if he musters a "Po-tee-weet"
No other birds may he greet.

Will ever a time come to pass
When the lonely bird sings at last?
BazzaroODST127 Dec 2014
No more than a rumor
Or a legend spoken in whispers
Mischievous folklore
Foretold around campfires

About a man
Skin black, birthed under an Eclipse
Who stalks the dark forces
Casting his might over them

Fending off the evil
Which festers across the land
Bleeding gold ink
That soils the crop and livestock

Wherever life thrives
Evil musters its footprints
But wherever it may be
He is there

Baffling their kin
Striking like thunder
Swift and silent
Like the humming katana

Making clean kills
And fading back into thin air
Being seen as a ghost
When more is known of him

For he is flesh
Great in heart
And vibrant in sight
As the father of judgment

Carrying out his given cases
That are closed by his steel hands
PJ Poesy May 2016
}I{
“Sinuhe”

King Khety is blinking madly
Haruspex has left him ominous oracle
Sinuhe is on his return, fugitive no more
Sinuhe brings with him enemy’s daughter
Not prize, Nefru his wife and Libyan lore
Sinuhe from slavery came, poet she did adore

Egyptian tombs do tell in detail
Hieroglyphic tales, this juncture of peril
Khety not King, but Sinuhe’s noble brother
Knows true King come to claim throne
Sinuhe the nobler, knows a life of none other
Than slave sold by Odious, the step-mother

Yes Queen Odious, deep in den of asps
Collected poison venom to undue her marriage
To Sinuhe’s father Merikare, Pharaoh of Moon
Odious’ ghastly act nearly tore Egypt in two
Her derangement sent Sinuhe far across sand dune
Odious took crown, added gilded teeth of baboon

Made her son King, though he did implore
Khety saw insanity and for what, he was in store
Khety remembers his Great Father’s words
“The heart of someone who listens to his temper
Is doomed to follow the stink of camel herds
Better to let heart fly upon sky, as do birds”

Yet by years tormented, Khety became undone
More like his mother and even more sniveling
Than the Odious one, so he did as he was told
Incessant dribbling marked a life for him
He minded his words lest he knew he’d be sold
Mother’s high priest Abhorus was bitter and cold

Sinuhe’s struggles were unknown to King Khety
Years of near starvation and wearisome labor
Made Sinuhe the better man, as he did never forget
Assurances of his noblest Father, Pharaoh Merikare
Virtue ascribed, Sinuhe kept valor in each trial met
Furthermore, his noblest task still to come as of yet



}II{
“Numidian Queen”

Nefru, Numidian Queen to Land of Libya
Recalls young slave Sinuhe’s hostility to captivity
His intelligence overcoming, who once would be King
Of Egypt had not violent arm but ferocious mind
Using wit to overcome adversity and words he did sing
To free his self of internment and all oddity it did bring

Nefru looks upon loyal husband Sinuhe
It is an arduous journey this man has taken
Her commitment be bound now by ivory ring
Loyalty to this man before all forsaken
It is spring, and amongst abundant life come dead things
Fledgling birds first flight failed or so siblings did fling

Now swept into his pilgrimage, Nefru perceives
All adversity Sinuhe did overcome so nobly
To her, he is chukar, partridge of rare plumage
It is to the ground, which this bird be bound
Never reaching sky, low brush be its’ *******
Though its’ song give to her heart an anlage

Freedom from slavery, is Sinuhe’s triumph
Vindication of crown be the mark of new flight
He prays to Horus Behudety, Winged Sun God
Nefru knows of her husband’s will and might
She gifts to him her father’s pinioned golden rod
Scepter of enslaver Mehru, and his feathered shod

It was not of great agreement by Mehru
Should his daughter Nefru marry a slave?
Much less to son of Merikare, an arch enemy
Yet he be so brave, impressions of Sinuhe’s strength
Be made so to change, very nature Sinuhe’s destiny
So much so, Mehru did lament in Merikare’s elegy

So it came to be, a slave marries Queen
Sinuhe and Nefru’s love broke all patterns
Such a love to win hearts of, Gods and Goddess’ unseen
Who rule other worlds and all rings of Saturn
History had never known affection so purely clean
Gatherings from far off fields came to witness such glean



}III{
“Haruspex And Detritus”

Haruspex, soothsayer speaks in half-truths
King Khety believes only small contingent
Be on way to Byblos, presently approaching Qedem
Little does he know, armies of Elephant in tow
Masses of feathered and golden archer’s stem
Blessed by breath of Bat, Goddess and her phlegm

Detritus, Animal Man, hired scout to King Khety
Possesses claws and hair of lion, his home Serengeti
Animal Man’s mane is thrashed in thorns and rubble
Smells of cat ***** but has nose that knows much
Such why Detritus be tolerated, though be much trouble
Haruspex twists tale of tailed man, speaks of him double

Calls him lazy, shiftless, yet Haruspex be cryptic mess
Detritus be banal yes, but true to Khety none the less
Knew his father well, Merikare be his master
It was always Queen Odious, Detritus distrusted
Knowing her demonic betrayal and Egypt’s disaster
She kept him in gypsum cave, scratching alabaster

Kindness had left this Kingdom sometime ago
When Odious and Abhorus overthrew rule
Merikare Moon Pharaoh mummy cry from tomb
Sinuhe ripped from his side by Abhorus
His funeral a very mockery and Detritus’ doom
Haruspex made way from Libya, eyes mucous rheum

Planted by Mehru, Haruspex be sent through desert
King of Libya be wise, sent this oracle as disguise
Not soothsayer at all but spy of opposition
King Mehru knew upon Moon Pharaoh’s death
Peace upon land would not soon come to position
Quickly he sent Haruspex, strangest magician

Detritus knew by the first smell of him
Haruspex came from earth west, not with best
Intentions to natural order of land and sky
And this test of two egos be quite perplexed
With each other and another reason why
This brawny epic riled through years gone by



}IV{
“Ode ‘O’ Odious”

Motioning her battalions, priests and beasts
Evil Queen who overthrow, joins Abhorus’ feast
Beldams be this clergy, **** all about Odious
Snapping of rabbits heads in cacophony of blood
Plunking chalices of malice’s, sacrifices melodious
All in dark chamber halls in depth’s commodious

Stretching of intestine to fine tune harp
Butchers waylay innards with daggers sharp
Mawkish music be Odious’ fame
Concavity’s entrance a perilous scarp
Passers-by enticed by bergamot oil’s flame
Fall to their death to be eaten by dame

Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
Drunken mayhap through day and nightcap
She rumpus muck, she ruckus all luck
Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
Chambers fill with all matter of bile guck
Bites cobra tails, hooded heads protrude to ****

Death be her power to innocence’s pain
Queen Odious oblivious to her own danger
Seems unstoppable to submissive subjugates
Spinning her terror, cackle calls to maidens
Fem ferocious, how ‘O’ Odious undulates
Casualties collected in long hundredweights

Probity of her high priest be none
Abhorus puppets Odious and will be done
With her second rare blue water lilies run out
The Nile produces this flower of intoxication
Extinction of it is of all certainty, no doubt
Named after her, O Odious flora beguiles lout

Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
It is Evil Sorceress and midnight blue flower
Power of it be all in her high flighty head
She misuses its’ tincture to her own final hour
Harvesting it foolishly, nearly till it is dead
And when it is, it will be to all worlds’ dread



}V{
“Oasis In Iaa”

Sinuhe receives word elephants parched
Water need be found, arduous trek campaigned
Nefru never witness such worry, Sinuhe’s face
Ox tail be split to drain nourishment from beasts
No water for miles, no sea birds upon sky to trace
Sinuhe prays, “Montu, God of War find oasis to race!”

Sekhmet, Archer Goddess visits Nefru
Great Lady is besieged by dessert’s spell
Hallucinations bring mirage to Nefru’s sight
Transfixed on dessert’s horizon her eyes
Contingents warriors, bands of archer’s fright
Paths set forth, only to journey by starlit night

At dawn Sinuhe strands his band
Takes his most devoted men of arms
Bhaktu, Parsi, Rhaktu, follow their Lord
Each having faith in man and his wisdom
Eastward they find Syrian tribe in horde
They are welcomed, none need draw sword

Master of Syrian tribe Abu Sefa
Understands who Sinuhe is and was
Orders falconers to find Nefru and throng
Apprises Sinuhe of oasis beyond hummocks
All are soon joined together in wine and song
Oasis found, Iaa, fruited land and lagoon long

Khety is warned of revelry in Iaa
Sends legions Egyptian arms, by order Odious
Anubis, jackal head God given zebra sacrifice
Detritus employed for battle with spears
Copper shields, mediocrity will not suffice
All swords be sharpened by order thrice

Lifeblood battle of Egypt ensues
Sinuhe taken off guard in Iaa,
Elephant screams to be heard for miles
Bhaktu cut down, Rhaktu not found
Parsi’s archers never saw such trials
From lagoons come seething crocodiles



}VI{
Twist Of Fate

Rensi was chosen by Abhorus to speak for Khety
As High Priest, Abhorus did most doling of employs
This proxy Rensi though, be mockery of King
His speech more stammered than Khety’s noise
Grossly disfigured as well, soundings as mice sing
Rensi aware of this, musters all dignity he may bring

Perigee moon at present, o howling now
Hyena laughing at dissertation of Khety’s proxy
Ill ease overcomes this Rensi, an impediment
Speech undone on terrestrial stairs to Memphis
Escalades flora, fauna; monsoons washing sediment
Tefnut, great rain goddess turns world to excrement

This not so illustrious disquisition muted
By torrent winds and torrential liquid compounds
Tefnut’s tears plunk upon all, turning mud blood
Looking out from his great house Khety embroiled
Bares soul to Sobek-Re, Crocodile God; Sun and Crud
Sobek-Re answers prayer, suspending flash flood

In Iaa, as gore of battle ensues, fate lose
As twist of tale find new bemuse and worlds infuse
Detritus sees his lost master Sinuhe encroaching peril
This recognition swells an emotion deep and confuse
Detritus bent in memories flash reacts nobly not feral
With a roar to be heard over all, clamor become sterile

Sounds of battle cease and gaze of majesty
Sinuhe seeing Detritus is overcome by sensibility
Two old beloved friends stare upon each other
Dragging swords behind each move to indemnity
Embrace of each other; secures allegiance another
Sinuhe kisses feet of Detritus; calls him “brother”

As witness to such, all weary legions unite
Moon turn blue, assured sign of Pharaoh Merikare
Mehru’s star battalions federate Moon Pharaoh’s armies
Together as one to Memphis they shall siege Khety
Overthrow Queen Odious and her sinister parties
This mainly being High Priest Abhorus’ autocracies



}VII{
Epitaph Of Detritus

Odious in lair drinks tinctures blue water lilies
Abhorus her advisor suggests only more intoxicants
Khety is shrilling at sight of this deceptive lure
Haruspex makes prophesy of Detritus’ betrayal
Khety sends hunters to trace Animal Man’s spoor
Abhorus finds more legions of archers to procure

Leaving Iaa and moving toward Memphis
Detritus is fitted by Nefru’s maidens new armor
Embroidered with gold, a striped khat is made to adorn
Detritus is humbled by Sinuhe and Nefru’s gifts
His body is perfumed and oiled; his mane then shorn
Beholden to the true King of Egypt, Detritus is sworn

Two men of different lands, both once slaves
Overcome their adversities and rise upon sun
Sinuhe and Detritus’ bond is legitimately noble
Wearing of these worlds bare them new providence
Seemingly this union appears fortuitous global
Keeping steadfast of Abhorus’s archers now mobile

In Sakkara, south of Memphis come tempest
Raining arrows as if raindrops, Sinuhe’s challenge
Detritus’ valor finds reckoning to his last will
Defending Sinuhe, Detritus falls to cumulating
By strength this virtue witnessed, Sinuhe rise still
Throwing down legions of archers, making his ****

Abhorus, Odious, and Khety with no troops left
Surrender to Sinuhe upon his return to Memphis
Odious drinks last vials blue lily tincture, expires
Abhorus struck dead by hand of Khety in resolve
Khety bows to Sinuhe and his Queen as requires
King Sinuhe , Queen Nefru read parchments and fliers

In honor of great Detritus and his noble deeds
Commissioned is greatest sculpture Animal Man
During its’ long construction, most joyful jinks
Song and dance to honor a great warrior true
Each artisan so proud to have heritage to links
Of Animal Man, Detritus, now known as Sphinx
This is my adaptation of The Tale Of Sinuhe. It is the oldest known work of Egyptian literature. This epic poem was written by me with the intent of creating a puppet opera. I hope to collaborate with other poets, musicians, artists and puppeteers to see this come to life. Between each chorus should be arias which embellish the plot and theme. If you may be interested in working on this piece, please let me know via private message. I hope to make it a collaborative work.
Rain Sunshine May 2015
The beauty in a bow will only show
the rancid flavor it musters when it opens it's throat .
With bland intentions of subjects but loud quirks , its grey eyes will shower you with gloat.
Sheepish , arched lips will saunter you a hiss.
Your pupils get lighter and the lies get higher.
Fond of their beauty in substance of looks , only will you find the meaning in books.

Will you rattle a smile on a hook when your success won battle with your humble good looks.

The vain that slithers out of your mouth wont be a match for whats out and about.
Check again looks don't overcome meaning but meaning overcomes gleaming .
So give me a higher reason for not being to dreamy?
Self-centered, no i remember , it's not the center in my last November.
Last time i checked the cab looked its best on the exterior and on the inside lacked of a barrier.
Now look again at the vain heart , covered with smudges and a bland start.
Look in deeper all you talked was about you, i checked again and please don't lie and tell me it isn't true.


i'm insane and you are too , if one is narcissistic then baby its you.
Kara Jacobs Jan 2013
To ensure his feelings eternally endure,
he musters a misty memory of her,
as he gazes out over the open ocean
and into the unforgiving night sky.

He recalls her intoxicating perfume
of that final encounter
and the way her erogenous eyes entranced him.

He realizes that he remains entranced, enamored, to this day.
He refuses to lose vision of the woman from across the sea.
"Come to me," he whispers.
Joie Yin Nov 2018
She is a young girl
Who cry tears to sleep
In darkness her body curls
Falling apart as she weeps.

It is not the first time
The lullaby she heard
It has been quite a while
Since she last laughed.

Screaming of a woman
Beaten by her husband
In the night of suburban
Her body bleeding wound.

The girl musters up courage
Runs while he hits the wife
Break into neighbor’s place
Plea for dear mother’s life.

Police arrive in minutes
He is caught for violence
Finding mother’s heartbeats
Have gone in silence.
Stop domestic violence.
elizabeth Mar 2016
I found my light
in not doing what's expected of me,
but in doing what's best
for a 7 year old
who lost his baby sister
and his train of thought
when counting to 20
because iPads download games in seconds
but it feels like years he's watching an ad
depicting guns and blood and dying and
every time he points a finger at a friend
the law tells me
I have to call his mom
who has no response to
"I just didn't feel like doing math today,"
but musters up every ounce of energy
she doesn't have
to expel one weak statement-
"We must do what is expected of us."

They tell me that restraint
is 3 seconds or more
of student resistance
and teacher persistence
but while my hand never touches him
my words wrap around his legs
telling them to stop pacing
and they cover his mouth
telling it to stop singing
and when he cries in the hallway
at 9:52, screaming,
"I hate this school,"
I cannot explain to him
how lucky he is
to be surrounded by adults
who fake a high tolerance
for his constant fidgeting
so instead we sit in silence
until his anger runs out
and my heart rate slows
and we are ready to try again.
Later, he hugs me.
I do not pull away.
This is not restraint.
Aaron Wallis Jun 2013
A subcutaneous doubt musters and you itch
The shore line depression is here without hitch
A sea of harps instigating an emotive atrophy
You discharge and you dive with certain alacrity

There is a boat afloat out in the briny of spite
Oar-less and holey amid the bark and the fight
You plunge and you quaff as you leave quiet behind
A clamber and a climb and inside you will find

Ruckus and roar as you rock with each crash
Thunder and hail as the waves tempestuously lash
Gladden with the grim elation preserves you
Mirthful and drugged whilst the wet pours through

To the most aphotic of waters that drags you deep
The boat now just wood unto rocks in a heap
Too eager to leap and now too weak to swim
A stoical sink under madness to dim

The seashore despair was a lie to itself
The still and the shielded brimming with wealth
Never attempt to weather a storm
Of a storm as endless as that of that storm

A wish that you stayed a want that you listened
You’d still be where her green eyes glistened
Where love and the good is now once tendered
Most is best left as how it’s remembered.
MCWA Nov 2010
He gently creeps into her room
to rest tenderly near her side
while thoughts of melancholy zoom
in ~ of his once vibrant bride
she's been there for him
so many, many years
he sniffles~and tries to hide
the sorrow and the tears
she has been injured and hurt
but has lost the fight
she will not make it through the night
she will be in paradise by tomorrow's day
he reaches to sniff her best skirt
holds it tight~ it smells of her perfume
he drags over to the vanity to spray
her familiar scent around the room
he cradles her head within his arm
then musters an adoring smile as he whispers in her ear,
"Time travels fast, and I will see you in a while, my dear"
He provides her warmth by stroking her hair
he wants to capture this image of her there
he wants this moment painted on the wall
so that he can always,always recall
how peaceful she seemed while adrift somewhere.
Alex Hoffman Mar 2016
8:00 AM, Monday, Nov. 14th, 2016: Alarm goes off.

He rag-dolls himself across the flat. Past the paintings that huddle on the floor against the walls, past the unpacked boxes concaving from dust and into the shower where he keeps the alarm clock and pliers to turn on the broken shower handle. The bed is a place where thoughts unravel like yarn that one can never quite ravel back to its former integrity, so he doesn’t like to stay there long. Instead he concentrates on the two-day **** smell that trademarks his bathroom. Always two-day ****? He thinks. Never one-day?


“WHAAAP WHAAAP Click” he hits the alarm with the edge of his fist and starts the water, which hits the floor of the tub in a carbonated rattle that emulates the patter of the office water cooler being rinsed and refilled, rinsed and refilled for the last twelve years (his personal duration with the company). Avoiding the water cooler is thirsty work but allows him to dodge creepy office gossip. It is enough in the morning to have to shout “good morning!” in a practiced timbre and twist one’s face into a look of serenity to flaunt at coworkers. These, at least, he’s mastered. He thinks practicing these last two items out loud.


Feeling reasonably damp he shuts off the water, towels down, climbs into the clothing he set out the night prior, grabs his computer bag (also pre-stocked/sorted) and marches through the front door, hair still damp, climbing through the frozen city air coloured by police sirens and the familiar song of commuter impatience and into his Honda, saturated in tree-air-freshener fumes.

The radio: “BOW CHIKA! BOW CHIKA! Bow Bow HEY!….Clap along if you feel like a room without a….” bludgeons him through the stereo so he cranks it louder still and try to keep up for about a block, voice horse and deprived, so he settles for a low hum but ultimately feels like a ******* and opts for silence. When the thoughts start to unravel, he turns the stereo back on, half mast.

The bassy throbs of his heart assaults his rib cage, so he’s almost at work.
“Hello! HeelloO!” He practices again bringing the car to a stop, his left foot hitting the pavement as the Honda leans forward, backwards, then goes still. “HE—llo!” Back through the frozen morning, fiddling the keys in the lock and into the building.

The front door of the office presents its sickly yellow face and last minute sighs are exhaled.
“H…cough HeelloO!” He invites.
“Morning! Debbie returns. “Hey!” answers Rick. “Yo, yo,” says the intern whose name he feel terrible about forgetting. “How you doin’ today, Mr. C?” He asks.
Why the **** would he ask me that, it’s 9am, he thinks, but musters a “Me? Great!” in a tone that plainly sounds like Droopy Dog after receiving news from a physician that begins with “I’m sorry, Droopy” so he adds “just another day in paradise!” Something he picked up from young ****-types in university. 
“You?” he directs the question not only to the intern but the entire room to demonstrate gusto.
“Living the dream!” Says intern; “Couldn’t be better!” Says Debbie;  “Another beautiful day! Another beautiful day…” Says Rick.
They stare back at him with their mouth-corners quivering, eyes twitching, neck-veins prominent. They’re literally bursting from the seams with zeal! He thinks.
“Couldn’t be better,” he thinks. “Living the dream.” He settles into his headphones, a small fire welling in his gut. Don’t these people ever get tired of being “great?” He thinks, queuing “Three Little Birds” on his iPod, watching the waves move in, then out, in, then out on his new animated “beach theme” desktop background. 



He settles into his headphones but can’t distract his way out of the thought: why can’t I live the dream? Why everybody else, and more importantly, why not me?
S Oct 2011
a foreign feeling migrates in.
in with the winter winds
it comes.
ready.
raw.
musters strength.
guiltily building up.
it move from the
core of being
outwards.
pulses like liquid heat
poisons the blood
swallows whole
its innocent host.
runs rampant
exposure in spurts.
unwanted attention.
shameful movements.
anger and hate.
anger and hate.
rage.
A W Bullen May 2016
The time of the shining of
Wind-summered grasses, has passed,
-To the lark-breast mottle-
The harvested skin of the
Senescent land

The candle-****** gutter of
Hurrying wing sees
The last of the coin
That was minted in thatches
Of deepwood
Of latticing bramble
Of crumbling eve.

The mourn of the Moorland
Has  feathered a will
With the clot of the Ash,
Where a heather of cinnabar
Freckles the splash of
a simmering tarn

As gravelling Easterlies
Peel the cling of
The verdigris fades,
Some twilight of sepia
Musters the pastel
of Wintering calm.
After a day birding in Brecon with a friend, I wrote a verse of the experience  ( Ravens were there -again!- you have to ****** love those critters, though!), at the time , it was late summer, but  the change was already upon the Uplands. The insidious fading of leaf and grass, the brittle petals of wind-burnt flower, all murmours and rumour of the levelling cold to come.
James Jarrett Apr 2014
It had been a hard and sleepless night for the weary men on Lexington green. It had been a night of false musters and muddled information. Half of the 140 men had gone home after being called out prematurely on information that British troops would be arriving early. The remaining men awaited the arrival of up to 700 British troops that had been sent out to disarm the patriot militias, confiscate their powder and arrest their leaders, who had recently been charged with treason. These were ordinary men who stood there on that green and waited. They were tired and disheveled and had lives and wives and farms and children to tend to. They were men who could have been many other places, but chose instead to heed the call of the muster and await their fate on that damp morning. With British troops marching steadily towards Lexington this small contingent of men, with extraordinary bravery and valor, had decided that they would not allow the Brits to disarm them. They were being led by Capt. John Parker and certainly were not spoiling for a fight. Accurate accounts had come to them of British troop strength and they knew that they were gravely outnumbered. More patriot troops were mustering, but were heading towards Concord where the main goal of the British lay. These men stood through the dark night, through fear and trepidation, through doubt and anxiety, until they could hear the marching of the enemy coming upon them. This band of ordinary men had decided that they would defy the British troops that so greatly outnumbered them, defy their God given king and be ****** if they would be disarmed of their weapons. When finally faced by the British they were told to disperse and disarm or face the consequences. The men themselves held rank and appeared ready for battle; their battle line did not waver and they awaited the command to fire. Capt. Parker, however, was a good leader and had no suicide mission in mind for the men under his care. He knew that they faced annihilation in full confrontation with the British force and gave them the order to disperse. He also gave them the order to retain their weapons and the order was followed to the man without a single weapon being laid down. Somewhere in the following confusion a shot was fired and then numerous shots were exchanged, with the patriot militia falling back and scrambling for cover as they fired. It was not a large battle, but the shot that started it fell into legend and became the shot heard round the world. But it wasn’t the shot itself that mattered; it was the men who stood that long night in utter and stark defiance of the King and his army who mattered. Those men who would stand to wait and fight and die for liberty are the ones who mattered. Their ideals as men, as patriots, as Americans are what inspired those who followed to fight on. Their lofty idea, that they would remain free men or die defending their liberty travelled through the colonies faster than the sound of the gunshot. That handful of men, ordinary men; fathers, brothers, sons, husbands, craftsmen, laborers and farmers inspired a generation to war and victory. Now it would seem that we have the Brits marching again on Lexington, their boot steps echoing through history. But this time they are Brits in spirit and intent only, as their goal is the same though they wear a different uniform. The armed citizenry of Connecticut have decided that they are going to make their stand against the tyranny of their own Govt. They have decided that they will not be disarmed, or forced to register their weapons by the state. They have now been declared criminals, by the hundreds of thousands, as were the leaders of the revolution. It is ironic that the very same state that harbored the fugitive fathers or our own rebellion would become the tyrannical British. Their citizens though, have decided to make their stand, their Lexington green, and now dare the authorities to make good on their laws and raid their homes for their “Unregistered” weapons. Just like the first time though, this is not just about them. This is not just about some tired and nervous men waiting for a SWAT team to show up and end the life that they have. This is not just about some brave men who have chosen to make a stand and wait, exhausted, through the long dark night. This is about all of our liberties and freedom; yours and mine and theirs. This isn’t about Connecticut; this is about our natural rights that have been bestowed upon us by our creator. This is about the right to defend yourself against harm, crime and tyranny itself. This is the right to eat and the right to live and the right to fight if threatened. These are all of rights at stake, as they are under assault nationwide. A right lost in one place will soon be lost in another and never regained. There are men mustering again on the green. I am sure that they are frightened for they are risking all that they have. I am sure that they have uncertainty for they are facing prison and the loss of their families. But they are standing, and proudly, upon that hallowed ground awaiting the sound of marching troops, awaiting their fate…. In utter defiance. When that first shot that is fired, that surely will echo as loudly as the original, will you heed it? Will you let them stand on their own? When the first of the patriot blood is spilled, will you stay home? Do you have more important things to do? Ask yourself this; When the muster is called will you be willing to wait the night out on that green? Are you willing at all cost to have liberty? I can only hope that the answer is “I will be the first one there”.   I certainly know where I will be.
"We say: Bring it on. The officials of the State of Connecticut have threatened its citizens by fiat. They have roared on paper, but they have violated Principle. Now it’s time for the State to man-up: either enforce its edicts or else stand-down and return to the former laws that did not so violently threaten the citizens of this state." Statement from Connecticut carry to under secretary Lawlor
Casey Dandy Aug 2012
She wears it well—
Better than any designer label.
Her eyes shimmer
With the slightest tear,
And a lifetime of tragedy.
She keeps it together,
Musters a smile,
And a “thanks for coming”.

She wears it well.

A hug and a kiss,
An “I’m sorry for your loss, miss”.
A thankful nod back
Into her practiced shell.
She wears it well—
Grief, that is.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2016
nearly



"with close kinship, interest, or connection; intimately"


~~~

it's n-early for natty,
dressed for gym penance in his
dress blue
sweats

but instead of working out,

he's working out
a gymnastic, mental, laboring problem,
that the muse mistress musters him out
to out,
and to attend to
the birthing of t-his
composition

a re-erupting volcano that
has gone and got him good,
now he's a man intimately
possessed,
with completing, recording,
an unabbreviated log of
oh so long ago's,
a list of the
oh so many

nearly

line items in his
life's lineage

nearly

went a whole life lessened by being
love less,
which always calculates as
a life lived
forever insufficient

nearly

was intimate
only
with tears self-shed,
on a single pillowcase in
a double bed,
that was unfulfilled,
no intersecting
humanity

nearly

permanentized
kin
ship
as a
dictionary definition official
for a
sunken vessel,
a drowning one man scull,
racing toward a finish line
that had no visible
finish

nearly

lost both sons, lost years, lost friends
lazy living in the slow, low heat
of a burning hell
of zero connections,
thinking the proper cost/benefit solution
was always,
never to be
greater than,
always
less than one

nearly

packed it in,
while overlooking a temptress river,
calling me out swiftly from the
slow lane of loneliness,
offering a

nearly

certain final outlet sale,
a mark-down event,
for clearing the heavy, overladen shelf
of over-weighty
al-one-ness,
a sale of singular single
cell marks upon human flesh

nearly

died a miserable man,
and still may,
from who knows what
pestilence consumption

but

never

from never knowing,
for the lacking of,
the unadulterated love
of a good woman
*

and that is
more than,
greater than,
>
all the unknowable
nearlys

and more
than any other
nearly,*
life may yet
deny me,
or
curse me by


~~~
6:45am
Jan. 18, 2016
NYC
for Steve (Sjr1000) whose nearly always,
inspired comments
reminded me that
nearly
too,
can be
flawless,
in its own right
J Dec 2018
Love is a hell of a drink.
One sip and it makes
you brave enough to
think you can win
against the world.
It also makes you
paranoid and panic
out of your wits as
you stare into the
eyes of obliteration.
But that’s what love does;
it musters courage and
summons the monsters,
then mixes it into a terrifying
concoction called risk.

I know you’re scared.
I am scared shitless, too.
Let’s get drunk together,
What say you?
topaz oreilly Mar 2013
August is never  lost to Summer,
she shares in her sphere of circularity
Calendula's a by-word  for prolonging,
dead-heading vies with the flush.
Lunaria's prized seed pods' legacy's boon.
In redolent contemplation.
Autumn bulbs eagerly  secured.
Amongst them Colichicums a wondrous  shrub
for late September's  appearance.

Like a Stallion,  August's canter masquerades
the truest of challenges ,
for the final  hurdle.
By means of subtle suggestiveness
Russet subsumes the Red.
Blue musters a tired
muddying  Purple.
Yellow bleaches
as though touched
by the exertion of congruity
Natasha Teller Feb 2015
They whittle us down
until we are nothing more than a whisper;
a croak.

My flesh is balsa wood—
“pliable,” said the boss.
“Easy,” said the judge.

Men are born with knives.

Behind closed doors,
they carve.

Their chests swell as they set satisfied knives
on solid walnut desks, glossy with
the oil of money,
spit of secretaries,
greasy fingers.

No one
musters the courage
to knock.
Robert Ueda Oct 2014
Tiers set to impress
Stress best the tears and ***
Together or separate
Still a well coveted mess

But the best of the rest
Catch death by way of breath
Followed closely by movement
From the mouth, teeth, and neck

Word upon words
Precipitate from pain
Chasing hollow hope-ways
Where fears fall free like rain

Yet while the inner chapel's laughter
Does mock every sinner's chapter
Internal combustion musters
The will to breathe soon after
Copyright © by Robert Ueda 2014
He's only 9 years old
so his mother thinks being on the brink of suicide
which she thinks about as much as she blinks
is totally oblivious to her son who is actually more in-sync

Then she knows or cares to know
cuz it would hurt her soo much
to know that every time she left the room to cry
he knew that she was

But we tend to think our kids
are more out of touch
or maybe we just hope
So her son like her copes alone cuz

He's only 9 yrs old
and doesn't know what to say
But psychologically it's damaging
As his emotions get away

From his control without a father
To guide him like he shoulda been
And his mom says his father died
but he knows she lies to protect him

From knowing he's unwanted
And as time goes on
All of this pain has build up putting
A timer that after so long

will set off a bomb
So as her son comes home from school
he heard his mom crying
And it has made him feel like a fool

So as he musters up the courage
he Walks in the bathroom door
To see his mom curled up in a ball
Crying in the corner on the floor

Where he sees the blood dripping
Off her arm where it withdrawls
Infront of her and On her so
He runs to her and falls

in her lap knowing the act that
Was Tryin to be done
So as he cries with her he
Looks in her eyes and says "mom "

I'm sorry for everytime I heard u
Cry, it was dumb not to
come find you and hug You
and tell you I love u

I'm sorry I never said that
and dad Maybe gone
But I'm still here and I'm not leaving
So please don't leave me mom

I know you think I don't know
All the things that I know
But I know a lot I just don't know
How to help stop it so

Its ok and i know dad isn't dead
I know He left cause of me
And I'm sorry that I ruined things
Cuz maybe he wouldn't leave

If I wasn't born, and thats what
left her torn which was enough
To make his mom totally lose it
As she tries to say his dad leaving was

Not his fault but
She couldn't breath let alone talk
She felt alone for so long but this
Time her observant son Left her in shock

And as they sit on the Floor crying,together,
her son says I'm always here if you need me
But plz mom promise
You'll never again try to leave me....
Tom McCone May 2015
"in how many languages are our spaces salvaged, or is there a difference?
when our lips meet, will we be speaking the same words?
"

down some hall, she musters empty breath, unchanging lamps,
unflickering glint. he takes heavy& soundless steps. books
rearrange, every so eternal. so too do permute the walls, shadows,
patterns, and blotches of rain on the window. only a steady
and unequivocal pulse. the breath and heartbeat of the night's
containment. they mutter questions to bricks. they stand
still under streetlamps, frequently. as the gutter's rivulets
traverse, this town unfolds, like a map along the seams;
"along knives' edge, we exist," unheard, but still agreed upon
by some convoluted scheme. the handle around a corner,
lost from sight. evaporating memories. a season or second
feel the same, hiding behind doors & curtains. pale in
comparison. but, this has been here forever, or at least
four hours. "our slivers of humanity are laid out in
slight movements
", once the inside begins hollowing. all
facets brimming with nothing. where once there was a
shuddering between walls rest expanses, unchanging.
each blade of grass, a glistening distance. each swaying
tree, splintering to essential motions. each muffled conversation
a jumble of letters. even glance and skin dissolve
to fragments of blinks.

-a bird sings on a windowsill,
a gentle breeze.
-
19-5\2 (dreamt)
Nathan Young Feb 2015
Things aren't the same as they once were.
Perverted, our connection, you and I
due to the nature of an incident I procurred.
I miss the endless adoration once pure,
now muddled with a **** up and a "bottom's up!"
I raised the glasses, the bottles, the steins,
witholding truth, I ended with a bolsterous hiccup.
I laid in bed that night, in a drunken stupor,
covering my cold body with a sheet that lied,
hoping to move past so I shan't become part of a looper.
Alas, all was finally revealed and I to blame.
A fool to follow the masses, I couldn't find my own ground.
I should've fought harder, but now, I only feel shame.
I tried to embrace for that's all I knew what to do,
She shoved me into a wall, tears trickle down her face,
And all those barriers that I once broke down,
are now being rebuilt in what feels like the original place.

I don't know what to do.
I've lost all the trust.
Actions over words, she says.
Hit, Stay, or Bust.
I'm trying, lord knows I'm trying,
but in the dead of night,
when no one can hear,
I sit in the bathroom,
failing at holding back all those tears.
"I'm sorry, babe, I'm sorry."
Those words mean nothing now.
Words. Can't. Fix. Everything!

She loves me, which is why she stayed,
giving me a chance to fix the error of my ways.
She musters a smile, but I know that heart of hers is frayed,
but I'll find a way to prove to her that I am what I say:
The man she fell in love with, built on promises of old,
And if I may be so bold when I say, that I promise
our little sweet peas, will learn from this story and uphold,
the honor I had to fight for, and the lesson I had to be told.
I am truly sorry my love.
Alexandra Provan Jun 2017
I arrived earth shattering
Nails in my heels
Ready to crack concrete
Unwilling to be moved
Feet firmly on the ground
With a stubborn dignified silence
Or a speech I'd rehearsed
For the past three years
Unsure of which I might need.
He sits down in front of me
Gaze avoiding
Looking as if he can already sense the bitterness
Already feel the heat
Of all the space between.
He orders something unfamiliar  
And I wonder if it tastes like regret
Finally drinking down the consequence
He poured for us both
All those years ago.
In his face I sense a shame
And I think I'm supposed to be smug
That this is supposed to be the retribution
I craved for so long
This meet -
Him, with his cup of bitter
Me, dealt a dose of sweet.
I'd always envisioned this was the time
I'd finally taste some vegence
But all that's here is bittersweet
Saturating the space around us
Like there's no way to divide.
He musters some courage to look at me
Green eyes pierce
Just as fiercely now as they did back then
Stare right through the pupils
To the insides of the girl
Who's heart he ripped from it's chest.
I can't even fight it
It so immediately burns through
All the pain
All this strength and all this healing
Every scrutinised thing
I'd spent the last three years dealing with
The never ending proverbial glue
I'd used to forge myself whole
Suddenly becomes redundant
These cracks shining through.
My feet are no longer steady
I've forgotten all that made me reborn
I was supposed to find my voice  
Salvage this final rise
With an opportunity to bask in integrity
And finally leave it behind.
Instead I am 22 again
Mesmorised
Stomach churning
He always did have the ability to melt the ice
I built myself on
Like no one else I've ever met.
I hold his gaze a little longer than I should
He reads my eyes like a familiar book
And I know this game
And how it ends
But my heart is thumping his name against my chest
So loudly
It drowns out all the memories and words
I've sat with every day since he left.

I purposefully forget to remind myself
That he's the worst idea I ever had
Because I'm staring at his lips
And all I can think about
Is how much I want them on mine.

His mouth always did taste like hope.
Selma Bee Jun 2015
There was this girl who fell in love with her best friend.
When the friend came out to her,
She said absolutely nothing,
The friend never knew how she felt,

Four years down the road,
She finally musters up the courage to ask her out.
And so they’re happily dating.

I fell in love with my best friend
Three years ago,
At fifteen.
The other girl is eighteen now.

I guess that adulthood gives you courage
To do some really daring things.

I wish that I had the guts to do that,
Tell someone how I feel.

But it is so very hard to.
And I know the answer i wish for
And I know the answer
Which I’ll likely receive.
They are not the same thing.

But maybe,
When I’m eighteen,
I’ll get the courage to ask,
And love what happens next.
ScaR SavagE Sep 2018
A broken woman holds many secrets,
Like an ocean with many unknown creatures lying deep in the darkest depths of the sea,
She holds herself like a glowing stallion,
Tall and proud,
Yet she is fragile like a wilting flower,
Despite headaches & heartbreak,
She still musters an undeniable unrelenting love,
Many awe in her glow,
Yet many throw away all that she gives,
She rises day to day chip on her shoulder,
Stitch on her heart,
But still produces enough love to raise children,
Be kind to those who are homeless,
And even those who are undeserving,
An injured woman is a vault of many secrets, worries and sleepless nights,
She's beautiful in all her colors,
Just like a bird with broken wings,
A butterfly without dust to her wings,
INCAPABLE to fly,
Yet she can STILL live & survive,
Although she can never take flight.
What a fool to have loved, and love again.
To walk through puddles indoors,
Just to step outside onto hardwood floors.
With an ache in his step,
And a wonder like a child's,
Will he ever realize,
Somethings in life just aren't worth while.
With each moment collapsing,
Of and ***** so taxing,
One can only wonder,
is there something wrong...
...with him,
Or her,
With love or life?
Why do the best things make it hard to sleep at night?
Why does his greatest joy always carry such sorrow.
Rivers over flooded, no hope for tomorrow.
A future so elegantly constructed and nurtured in his mind,
Slowly deteriorates with every second of time.
Passing is the wind, the day, the night.
Faces swimming in a sea of numbers,
But destined to walk alone toward his grave.
Buried alive he screams for mercy,
And prays,
To a love he can't fully explain,
In hope for some clarity and guidance,
For matters one in the same.
But stationed on this plane of existence,
At this moment,
wandering in pain.
He musters up enough courage and drive
So as to reclaim,
That confidence that once was,
To carry him to his loves embrace.
Is he a fool?
Yes...
But he wouldn't have it any other way.
Hate is a strong word that musters a listened repetivness....
Why beat the same drum must get tiring or you feel old...
Truth be told I cant hear you.... Out of cherished choice.....
Your distant taunts make the best of your lost voice....
Where I am a person worthy of kindness and affection....
Will be left in your lies of perfect perception...
You can not hurt me I can finally leave by decision....
Well i guess you can have your won mission...
Ill be gone and you can love your Korean joke......
Be left at night to ***** and tokes...
While you hate and say in not the perfection you chose...
All i will leave is the sound of a door ill close.....
Behind your hate and constant disaproval...
I built a machine capable of my removal.....
That is all no more words no more promises....
Eventually everyone will get sick of absorbing your losses....
Cole Maxwell Mar 2019
The cold wind sings its lullaby
At 3 in the morning when no one can hear.
Untold sins bring up fear, a sigh
Released in the midst of sheer
Boldness. This coldness is clear,
Shoulders held up high,
This old soul smolders, endeared,
Behold the source of the flame, revered.
His own bones deteriorating from self hatred, he owns loanable favors.
Devoted to blatant peer pressure, mere pleasure.
He's caged in like a snake
Surrounded, for days, with four sides in a tank
Clouded by judgment as menacing as sharp fangs.
He wonders what may hide beyond the glass pane,
On this side of the storm, ignorance, like thunder, bangs and
Feeble minds plunder in pain as he gasps at the crass bane.
Alas, shame musters and he cries out in pain,
Flustered.
Disdain and frustration make him lose patience and thus, his veins rupture.
His name the grave mutters in vain,
It stutters insanely.
Utter fear engraves itself in the pavement,
Nothing contains it.
Lust favors reprehensible acts and calls them sensible,
Hence his demons savor his knack for evil’s principle.


Lack of remorse caters to the whim of the artist's reactive nature,
Lately, my fate has shown its true color,
Faded, it’s black,
Signed, the Plain painter.
Trapped in his drawings, his anger strapped like a weapon,
Regret has set in, like
Fangs and claws in your skin.
He questions plain and simple
Objectives he made in civil
Constraints,

His brain he fiddles with.
Lately it's made him lose a bit.
Sanity no longer placed in a state of complacent safety.
Erased from the face of history,
He faces the greatest mystery of faith:
How to catch a butterfly when the forceful wind’s against me?
Admittingly, since the distance presented its ill intentions,
I've witnessed the birth of innocence,
In this was, too, repentance.  
Forgiveness became a gift for me not,
But remains prolific and lame as it brings me pain.
These dreams rot,
Bereft of pristine thought.
Increasing in pressure, serene gestures
Spike at extreme measures, pleasing
A sea of  people just before they reach peak level
Of unequal treatment,
Leaving myself behind, so I Hyde
To appease Jekyll's.
Bereavement embezzles delicate meaning,
Eloquence seeping from my pores,
I'll admit treason,
Bring a stiff reason as to why this ship sinks and  
Reap the benefits for a quick season then right back to being cold.

Keep seeing ghosts but startled demons
Retreat with swift, keen intensity and
Quit seeking evil things to finish me.
Since she impeded with insistence
My fealty conceded, senseless.
Real to me was lethal vengeance,
Begging me to rescind interdependence
And purport to bequeath,
the reader,
Evil menace upheaved on the likes
Of people that deceive the needs of feeble grimace,
Steep and oblong is the course
he takes when absconding with illness,
Mental resilience, a reprobate uncommon
To deal with.
Pain reveals his main appeal,
And still they describe it as brilliance.
Chains of steel retain his will
So in ways he refrains from fulfillment.
Deals he's made with the demons he keeps
Rain shame down on this villain.
He channels wakes of chaos toward
The ones who forsake his plea
And help create his prison.
Envision now a spirit free,
But tortured by his angst,
His rhythm separated him from
The music written,
And shakes him in opposition;
Breaks him of his willful mission.
He hesitates to fill his needs,
Until he feeds the greed of millions,
Putrid schemes induce increasing
Feudal dreams of resilience.
This too precedes the illness.
Entropy must be a must, intensity
Proceeds to injure me with intense
Reprieve.
A fence between the mentally demented and a sense so keen
Is all that prevents the intelligent fiend
From relevant being in this
Hellish ravine
Filled to the rim with
Malevolent creeds and devilish seeds.
Prevalent deeds of ill means
Seem to instill an immense severance,
Leaning toward eloquence became the relevance seen around this decadent theme, yet,
The elephant in the room repels the elegant dream from being met.
Soon the bells will ring in hell
And too you'll sing of mere regret.
Those who read his tale of screams
Proceed to nail his coffin shut.
He's intrigued when awful things derail and
Sews the things he reaps.
He leaps, morose, to depths below,
Beneath the hell he knows and keeps.
Retreating poses questions close,
While silent rages creep.
His Queen, he hopes, will save him, though,
She'll only know to sleep.
Her beauty meets his eyes in peace,
But haunts him endlessly.

He wonders what she feels and thinks.
Muck monster Feb 2016
Rushing and running through a busy day
Good will and laughter thoughout the way

Everyone loves her bright charming smile
how she fiercely keeps it strong all the while

All day far away from her humble abode
Not till the dead of night she returns to a room so cold

Its not the busy day that keeps her from this room
None know she's running from a four by four tomb

The keys rattle as she trembles, placing them in the lock
Bracing herself as she musters up all her courage in stock

Fatigue suddenly overcomes her body while
she removes the mask engraved with the smile

She tosses it on the floor with all the others
Till the next day she'll use one of its brothers

She sits in solitude, in darkness, waiting for them
Having memorized the routine in this forgotten asylum

Help her help her, her pride all vanished  
The demons attack, they'll never be banished

They scratch and claw on her very soul
She didnt know why she paid such a toll

They beat her, break her as they feed off her will
They never slow down, even long after having their fill

Left limp on the floor numb and alone
Nothing ever changes as if written in stone

All she can do now is feel the phantom anchor
Of parts of her slipping every night in this mannor

She stares at her veils spread across the floor
A heavy weight on her chest dragging her down all the more

You'ld think she attends every mascarade ball
With all these visages she's left riddling the hall
Arfah Afaqi Zia Aug 2015
Sitting from horse to horse,
I find joy and exhilaration,
Having to control the reins,
Adjusting the saddle
Glancing at the mirror,
Holding a whip and wearing boots,
Musters up the feeling of enthusiasm,
Learning and connecting with the horse,
Brushing his hair through my fingers,
Thinking to myself,
How beautiful is this creature,
Majestic and miraculously created by God...
I love riding and chestnut <3
kfaye Dec 2016
the wind shakes the windows in their dressings like a child trying to wake its dead mother . you touch my face with the back of your hand, soft as the things that will be tanned in the slurry of our boiled- brains .      there is a clank from the cast radiator that     musters courage      up from floorboards below .   the mice run
scared.
your brow is deerskin that is pulled formfitting across my    dry,
      cupped           fingers
it wants small holes put in it as it                                      wears
suppler
into
a look
just
like kissing wool

the
heather inside the layers
that get put on-


wicking off like collagen

as the wintry madness finds us
Star BG Jan 2018
And so the day after New Years day rolls on
meandering like wind pushing hands of clock.
I move through familiar footsteps
taken inside brisk air.
Everyone still carries optimism.
Still musters up a smile
and voice of Happy New Year.

Christmas decorations disappear
from store windows.
Lights dim on trees as boxes
come out of closets for repacking.

May every day be perceived as
right after New Years.
So...everyone will carry the
spirit of love to move
with smiles and harmony.
Inspired by Mack

— The End —